


Worst Kept Secrets

by etoiledunord



Category: The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Blow Jobs, Comment Fic, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoiledunord/pseuds/etoiledunord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunken pool in the Cottage and a bit of teasing lead to events Quentin had never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worst Kept Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Written for aurilly for round five of the Five Acts Meme on Livejournal.
> 
> Set during Book I of The Magicians. Theoretically canon-compliant.

It was maybe 12:30 am. Quentin and Eliot were playing pool in the Cottage. They were drunk, so they were making a complete hash of it. Josh and Janet could be heard bickering sleepily from where they were sprawled out on the couch. Alice, last Quentin had seen, was reading on the window seat.

Eliot was rambling.

"I mean, I get the idea behind grouping us by Discipline. Gives us a sense of belonging, lets us focus on what we're good at, creates rivalry for Fogg's welters games so that the Gryffindors and Slytherins can battle it out." He tried to sink the 3 ball and missed hitting it altogether, but the cue ball rebounded and knocked the 7 ball into the side pocket. "Yeah!" he shouted. "But it just smacks of kid gloves. We're the kind of people who've spent our whole lives set apart, not belonging, and now that we're the elite of the elite, we're being told to go form cliques and worry about bonding. They've even given us clubhouses!" He gestured expansively at their surroundings, then sank the cue ball. "Fuck."

Quentin retrieved it and lined up his shot. "I don't know," he said. "I had friends who were like me back in Brooklyn. I walked away from them and never looked back. You don't have to let the people around you define you."

"Thank god," Eliot said. "It was annoying enough having a family who kept trying to get me to play football with them. At least with welters we can all yell at each other properly." He stopped and regarded Quentin critically. "What were these friends of yours like?"

Quentin accidentally sank the 3 ball Eliot had missed earlier. He glowered at his little bong-like grappa glass, then grabbed it and finished off what was left in one swallow, managing not to cough. He shrugged. "Just kids, same as me."

"Not quite the same as you, or they would also be here."

"I think I saw one of them at the Exam, actually," he replied. "I wasn't sure, though, and she wasn't around when the written part was over."

Eliot picked up on the important part. "She?" he asked. "You had a little nerdette friend?"

Quentin rolled his eyes. "What do you care?" he asked, trying to shrug off the topic.

"You were a 17-year-old male math genius," Eliot said. "Girls who can both keep up with you and put up with you are rare. The question, then, is, did she also put _out_?"

"Not for me," Quentin said, looking away. "She was dating my Type-A supposedly best friend."

"Ooh, now _there's_ a well of bitterness. You were in love with her, but she wouldn't even give you a pity fuck."

Quentin pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Take your shot, man, or I'm claiming victory." He gestured to the pool table with his cue.

"Hell, this is way more interesting than pool," Eliot replied. "Did she break your heart, this Estella?"

"Dickens? Really?"

"I'm a Gothic-Romantic-Syphilitic snob."

"Eugh," Quentin groaned. "Her name was Julia, all right?"

"Jooooooooo-lia," Eliot cooed.

"Fuck, man, why do you even care about this?" Quentin half-shouted. He really needed to change the topic. "I've seen you up in that tower; you wouldn't know what to do with a cunt if there were a map included!"

Eliot froze. Thank god, Quentin thought.

"You... saw me? Like, in person?"

Quentin frowned. "I was going to do some studying up there. It's not like I watched." Well, he had watched for a minute, but that didn't really count, he told himself.

Eliot didn't seem placated. "And you didn't report me to Fogg or anything?" he asked.

"Why would I have reported you?" Quentin asked. Then a thought occurred to him. "Wait, he wasn't underage or anything, was he?"

"No," Eliot replied. He seemed to relax a little, and smiled weakly. "I card all my conquests."

Quentin gave a small smirk. "I'm pretty sure you were the one being conquered."

The smile fell off of Eliot's face. "And that... didn't weird you out?" he asked.

"No?" Quentin said, confused. "Really, man, don't worry about it." He was fine letting the whole thing go, now that it had successfully distracted from the topic of Julia.

Eliot nodded slowly, then turned away, exhaling hard. He stood still for a minute.

Then, abruptly, he turned back around.

"You've never brought this up before." The words should have been defensive, but Eliot was grinning a small, wicked grin that made a shiver run down Quentin's spine.

"I thought you wanted to keep it a secret," he replied.

Eliot scoffed. "Shit, man, what goes on in that tower is the worst kept secret of my life."

"Yeah, I guess it kind of is." Quentin really wasn't sure what to say. He'd thought Eliot would shut up, maybe go hide somewhere, but instead he was advancing, and Quentin was feeling nervous and oddly... anticipatory.

"You know, I can usually tell when someone wants me on my knees," Eliot said. "But I was never quite sure about you. Until now, that is."

"What are you talking about? I'm straight," Quentin protested.

"You're not straight; you're drunk."

Well, there _was_ truth to that statement, or at least the second half of it. Quentin was feeling pleasantly light-headed and loose. The rest of the world seemed especially far away just then. And even if he'd never had any kind of sexual encounter with another man, he was still feeling an attraction to Eliot. Quentin could feel himself growing hard, and he was just a shade too far gone to be embarrassed. Apparently both parts of Eliot's statement were correct.

Eliot was moving slowly towards Quentin, who was half-leaning against the edge of the pool table. The grin on his face was definitely lascivious. Quentin's breathing sped up as Eliot stopped mere inches away and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"I want to suck you off," he breathed.

Quentin felt slightly dizzy. He drew in a shaky breath to centre himself. He didn't let himself think about it, didn't worry about what was going on or why he wanted it or what might happen later. Instead, he just spoke. "Do it," he commanded.

Eliot dropped gracefully to his knees and immediately nuzzled his face into Quentin's groin. Quentin gasped. Eliot mouthed at his erection through the fabric of his pants, breathing hot air and leaving the material damp. It had been years since Quentin had had sex, and he was caught up in the rush of sensation and alcohol and instinct. He felt himself becoming desperate for more.

Quentin dropped his pool cue. It fell to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. Both of his hands went to Eliot's head and pulled at his hair. Eliot groaned, and Quentin pulled again. "Do it properly," he ordered. "Stop playing around and suck my cock."

Eliot groaned louder, and he scrambled to undo Quentin's pants. He got them open, then yanked them down to his thighs along with Quentin's underwear. He pulled his head back a little and paused, taking in the sight in front of him.

"Oh, god," Eliot choked. "Oh, god, finally, yes."

He grabbed the base of Quentin's cock to steady it, then sucked the length greedily into his mouth. The heat was a shock to Quentin, and he bucked his hips forward without meaning to, seeking more. Eliot gagged a little, but he wasn't deterred in the slightest. He sucked hard, bobbing his head and licking with his tongue as if this was everything he'd ever wanted. Quentin watched Eliot through half-closed eyelids, watched as he lowered his free hand to his own cock, obviously hard inside his pants, and began to rub.

"None of that," Quentin growled. He pulled on Eliot's hair again to emphasize his point, and the hand was immediately brought up to rest against Quentin's hip. "You're taking care of _me_ right now."

Eliot's eyelashes fluttered, and he moved his hand from Quentin's hip down to play with his balls. Quentin had to let go of Eliot's hair with his left hand in order to brace himself on the pool table. He felt like he might fall down at any moment. He wasn't even really sure which way down was just then.

Quentin could feel the pressure building inside him. His legs were trembling and his breathing was ragged, but he didn't notice; his whole focus was on Eliot's mouth and how it was making him feel. "Oh, god," he grunted. "Yes. Yesyesyes, oh GOD!" He shouted as he orgasmed, shooting down Eliot's throat, feeling him swallow.

He regained awareness of his surroundings as he came down. He looked at Eliot, still on his knees. His face was flushed, and his mouth was shiny with spit and semen. He was smiling broadly. Aside from their heavy breathing, no sounds could be heard. Quentin wondered if the others had been listening. He then realized he didn't really care.

"I have wanted to do that for so long," Eliot said breathily. "You have no idea."

Quentin regarded him carefully. He was still drunk, but he knew this wasn't something that couldn't just be put down to too much grappa. He wasn't sure how he felt about that now.

"I need to sleep," he told Eliot. "We'll talk in the morning, yeah?"

Eliot's expression flickered, too quickly for Quentin to decipher it. "Sure," he said. "In the morning, sure."

Quentin put his clothes back on properly and walked out of the room.


End file.
